Looking for waterfalls

Willys meant cops. So when the jeep stopped outside her house the new bride peered outside the window a lot anxious. The big burly with twirled moustache and rolled up shirt sleeves sat with one leg out on the footboard so he could jump out even before the vehicle came to a complete stop and take off after the criminal – at least that was the image enforced in her mind by the movies. A muscled man with neatly parted hair and curled up sleeves sat at the driver’s seat, leaned forward and honked signalling for her to come out. The panic that was growing fell away suddenly and her frown was taken over by a widening smile – the man was her new husband. 

One of the most scenic in midland Kerala

That morning when he left he had promised her a surprise upon return and the best she could think of was tickets to the matinee or maybe a parcelled delicacy. She had ruled out the sewing machine because he wouldn’t want her to be caught up with anything other than himself right now. So this was nothing short of wondrous, an early start to fantasies – they had been married for less than a month. During the initial days of their courtship it was discovered that they shared a mutual love for seeing places and had made plans to travel everywhere from Kerala upwards till Kashmir. Though they were to travel extensively abroad later, air travel and foreign countries were beyond the imagination they could indulge in being junior lecturers at adjoining colleges and intent on raising a large family.

This was the first time she was sitting in a jeep and it was a task alright bunching up the sari and trying each leg on the step before negotiating through the jutting panels on to the seat and tucking your legs into the crammed space careful not to trip over the safety strap. Of course, none of these went noticed – excited immeasurably as they were about the short trip they were about to undertake. There was a waterfall 25 kilometres away along the Pala – Muttom road, a lonely stretch which meant endless possibilities.

Nearly half a century later the couple, my folks, retraced the same route in a car I was driving. Of course, a lot had changed – not just places but how you reached them as well. The turning towards Muttom about 10 kilometres away from our hometown was now a junction trying to look officious and efficient what if with a non-working traffic signal.

“The turn was so nondescript back then we missed it twice at least,” my mother said. My father, who has an infamous dislike asking for directions, looked at her in askance.

“Who doesn’t know the way to Muttom?” He asked. “I have been there on many occasions with my buddies.”

“I remember people looking at us weirdly when we asked for the way,” she continued ignoring him.

“I am sure they would even today,” I pointed out trying to be helpful, “when a dashing young couple asked for directions that led into a near- forested area.”

“And how could I have missed?” Dad went on. “The signage is so big you had to be blind to miss it.”

One advantage of senescence is nothing and nobody dissuades you from disbelieving yourself. 

Palli and the pallikkoodam – a symbiotic relationship

The route is one of the most scenic in midland Kerala – winding roads upon emerging from the luscious foliage of rubber plantations head into misty mountains speckled and shimmering with gushing waterfalls. Climbing through most part, the path is missing in many places due to the streams that cut across coming to life during the robust monsoon. Some dips are paved with concrete which doesn’t help passage much – cloudbursts and landslides are a constant phenomenon in the region and you have to manoeuvre your way around fallen rocks and other debris. The bends are tricky, slippery and climbing, prompting the rare bus to tackle them with all the finesse of a suicide bomber on mission – horns blaring making a mad dash for the final assault with the sole intent to get it over with.

Muttom has historically been a sleepy town unlike its more illustrious neighbours like Thodupuzha, Pala or Erattupetta. Even though all were erstwhile agrarian villages, their recent shift to commerce made them bustling little tinpot towns of haphazard growth overflowing with small cars and large trucks but brimming with a lot of enterprise and ambition. People had alert eyes as if always looking for an opportunity, and they stared as if it lay inside you. But Muttom seemed to be spared from all these, the charms largely intact. 

Languid flowed the river

The church (palli) and the school (pallikkoodam) still stood next to each other in their original garbs – icons arrayed outside a gothic, garish facade and slanting tiles perpetually poised to slither off suddenly. It was a symbiotic relationship that withstood the onslaught of times – one fed the other. Because of the pandemic, both places were shut and when we drove up into the grounds we espied a very worried priest watching us from a distance the virus had no chance of surviving. We took a small detour from the main junction where one lone auto rickshaw was parked; the driver hadn’t seen a fare in such a long time that he had disappeared into the corner of the backseat all agog about the occasional movement along the deserted drag. The Thodupuzha River flowed languidly taking a cue from the inhabitants along its banks – in no particular hurry to reach anywhere.

Probably the river, the mother was reminded of a waterfall.

“I just remembered there is a waterfall along this route,” she said, eyes far. “It was not very big but very pretty.”

The father remained quiet maybe a shared reminiscence or just didn’t hear. 

Like moonlight over rocks

Because she said it was right after Muttom, I slowed down the rest of the journey not wanting to miss it. Our eyes were peeled to the sights around. Brooks and little cascades were summarily dismissed.

“No, this is not it,” she kept saying. “Keep going, I am looking.” Though she didn’t exactly look lost, something in her eyes told me she was trying to grok the route, a distant memory. I kept pointing out a few a little removed from the road: no, the one we were looking for had to swoosh right by the side of the road.

“We stopped there and spent some time under it,” she deliberated slowly not very surely, as if arranging the pieces of a faded jigsaw to form that clincher.

“Maybe you stopped the jeep and hiked up a bit?” I volunteered, ever-helpful.

“No, keep going.”

As romantic as the pursuit was, it started to feel like a wild chase. I mean anything could have happened in half a century, right? Quite possible was a zealous if stupid contractor who might have walled it up or razed it down to save him on maintenance. Or maybe the locals themselves…

“Stop, stop, stop,” my mom grabbed my shoulder from the backseat. “Right here.”

I still don’t know how I missed it, maybe I was on the verge of believing it an adynaton or, as I proclaimed, it might have been the fading daylight. There it was, right by the wayside, toppling moonlight over glistening, moist rocks. The verdure around looked hassled like the protective warden of a gaggle of pretty girls trying to hold them together. The plunge pool was shallow, looked inviting nevertheless – the water clear to a sparkle, a gentle gush and jaunty droplets teased.

The Willys stopped.